


The Throne

by kuillsins (EykielAfterDark)



Category: MapleStory
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Blow Jobs, Bondage and Discipline, Discipline, Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Spanking, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EykielAfterDark/pseuds/kuillsins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has stolen the second most important thing in Ereve. Freud has a pretty good idea who... and he's going to make him pay.<br/>(PhanxFreud. Oneshot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Throne

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic was written in 2014, and was the very first smutfic I wrote. I was young and immature at the time, and now I am much more aware about the process of BDSM; and also have a deeper understanding of characterisation and character development. This fic is flawed to hell, but I am quite loathe to delete it as of yet. 
> 
> **So you have been warned: this is a badly written self gratuitous porn fic; although there is much, much more to BDSM, this fic is certainly not it.**

Freud was jolted abruptly from a particularly complex train of thought by shouts floating through the door. It was in the dead of night, and the candle on his desk was almost all melted, so who on earth was making all that ruckus?

For what seemed too many times for his comfort, he noted his place in his book before heading outside.

And someone grabbed onto his shoulder.

'Freud,' it was Luminous, eyes wide with indignation and a trail of angry feathered guards behind him. 'I told you that accursed thief was bad news -'

Hawkeye wrenched his hand away and twisted his arm so Luminous let out a yelp of pain. Freud swallowed a shout as the Captain Thunderbreaker snarled. 'Keep marching, you rotten barnacle. Cygnus is waiting for an explanation.'

'Transcendents! I  _swear_  on my life, it wasn't me!' Luminous yelled as Mihile manhandled him angrily down the corridor.

The Dawn Warrior's eyes were livid, something Freud had never seen before except in battle, and never before this irate. 'And why was it found in your house then?'

'How in Rhine's name should I know?!'

'Make sure you keep that sailor's tongue of yours outside the conference hall, you slimy eel.'

Freud didn't like what he was hearing. Irina pulled him aside, gently but a tad too firmly, just as he was beginning to join the dots together.

'You're a smart man, Freud. And we trust that you make smart choices.' Her emerald eyes were regretful. 'If you're smart enough, you'll start thinking of a way to right this wrong, or you'll lose the respect of all of Ereve and us Knights.'

'You also know Luminous didn't do it,' noted Freud.

Irina nodded. 'Nobody keeps their stolen loot on the roof of their house.'

'What of Mihile and Hawkeye, then?'

The Windbreaker glanced at the angry mob that was surging around them, shouting and hollering. She leaned in to Freud's ear and murmured, 'Every enforcement team needs a scapegoat. And so does an irrational mob. I fear you have brought upon yourself more trouble than is actually worth.'

'Despite all that's happening now, I have to disagree with your last sentence.'

 

* * *

 

Cygnus was standing. Freud noticed it immediately.

The young lass looked disheveled at having been awoken at this inhuman hour, but still managed to convey the grandeur that her late predecessor always radiated. She only spared Freud one glance, and he only spared her a subtle tilt of the head in reply before Neinheart stormed to a halt before a kneeling Luminous.

Before Neinheart could even begin his tirade, Cygnus raised a hand. The entire conference room fell silent but the lack of words only served to intensify the feeling of judgemental gazes upon him. Freud ignored them all and kept his head high.

'Dragon Master?' her voice rang loud and clear over the silence. 'Would you like to give a few words?'

There was a muted hiss as he stepped forward and took his place beside the light mage. 'Luminous is innocent. I will need time, but I will ensure that the true perpetrator of this theft will come forward, return the throne, and give a sincere apology to the Empress, the Heroes, the Knights, and every member of Ereve.'

'And in the meanwhile?' Cygnus encouraged him.

'In the meanwhile I will take full responsibility for the quality of the magic infused in the throne, repair anything that seems in the slightest bit awry, and make sure it's returned in better condition than that in which it was stolen.'

'How are we going to trust  _you_ with the  _throne_?' spluttered Neinheart, but Cygnus shot him a glare so fierce that Freud was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of it.

The Empress let the silence simmer until it was almost uncomfortable, even to Freud.

'Empress Aria trusted the Dragon Master,' she murmured. 'And so do I.'

From paces away, Irina was the only one to see Freud's eyes harden just imperceptibly at the Empress's words. It was a display of trust, but it could be the Dragon Master's greatest downfall. If the thief wasn't caught, he's break the Empress's trust, it'd be the end of Freud's namesake, as well as Afrien's, as well as the legitimacy of the Heroes. She saw his lips harden into a thin line and realised that the Dragon Master was struggling with an ire he was hard pressed to contain.

She, and everyone around him, gradually learned to stay out of Freud's way the days following that. There was a harshness in his eyes that wasn't there ever before and everyone wasn't used to this new Freud, or the way a storm seemed to be gathering behind his ever-pleasant smile.

 

* * *

 

When Phantom realised they weren't taking that ornately carved throne off Luminous's roof, he decided to pay a visit to Freud. He wasn't sure if he was surprised that Freud was sitting at his desk, chin rested on tented fingers, and his desk free of any parchment, book or journal.

'Dear Freud,' he announced as he swooped in through the window. He grinned. 'Have you noticed Luminous's new addition to his furniture?'

'We all have,' replied Freud.

'I heard him yelling profanities his mother would be shocked to hear as they marched him off to the Empress,' he smirked. 'Good on him. Old stuffy pants deserved it.'

'Mhmm.'

'Pity I wasn't there to see it though. Wish I had. Teach him to mess with me. But I don't think he'll stop calling me a pesky thief,' he added slightly regretfully as an afterthought.

'Neither do I,' said Freud.

'What do you think? How gravely do you think he'll be charged?' Phantom snickered, making a show of rubbing his hands together in exaggerated glee. 'Was he imprisoned?'

'Yes.'

'Until now?'

'Mhmm.'

'And his hearing?'

'There is none,' said Freud.

No hearing? Phantom whirled around in surprise. 'Why not? They already have enough evidence don't they -'

Freud's eyes. They stopped him in the middle of his sentence and that look alone, hard and purposeful and knowing, made him topple off the high he was on for the past few days.

'Do me a favor, Phantom.'

He found his throat dry. How could Freud sound so calm… and yet command so much from his emotionless words?

Realising that Freud was waiting for him to respond, he coughed. 'I'd be glad to be of service, my darling -'

'Two favors, then. Please don't call me  _your_  darling. And please bring that throne to my basement.'

Something sickening and cold pooled in the base of his gut.

'And if I don't?'

Freud got up and turned to leave and Phantom felt slight indignation at having been brushed off. The redhead called over his shoulder, 'Don't make me regret it.'

Make  _Freud_  regret it? What on earth did he mean? The door shut and Phantom realised he had been holding in his breath the entire time. Maybe it wasn't such a good prank to pull after all…

 

* * *

 

 

Phantom had been pacing in Freud's dark basement for two hours now. Like a caged animal, he huffed. He decided to play good boy for once and bring the throne down to Freud's makeshift lab as he'd requested, and stayed in the open space far away from the bubbling concoctions and shelves of test tubes lest he incur Freud's wrath (was that open space there before? He'd only ever been in Freud's basement once, and that was a long time ago, having found that Freud was more upset over having books stolen than potions he could simply brew again).

The door opened and Freud stepped through. Phantom glanced to his hands immediately and was relieved that he only held an old journal and a thick book in his hand.

'Oh thank gods,' he chuckled, something stifling fluttering off his chest. 'I thought you were going to leave me here alone all night -'

'Strip and get out.'

Phantom's eyes widened. Something about Freud's clinical order made him shiver and that stifling thing was back coiling and tensing in his gut. 'Freud, this is no way to ask for a fuck -'

'I want you in nothing but briefs, at the bottom of the stairway landing. Now.'

Phantom laughed to hide his growing uneasiness as Freud stalked past him. 'There are other ways to get your pleasure, my Freud…'

'The sex will count for nothing if you don't leave the room at once.'

'Oh, punishing me now, are you? You don't even know if I did it.'

Freud splayed the book and journal open and began to inspect the throne. He gave no answer.

'Not denying it. I see.' Phantom crossed his arms. 'Tell me this. Nobody in the whole of the world can contain me. What makes you think I'm going to stay for your  _punishment_?'

'You don't want me disappointed  _again_.'

Phantom found himself seething. Freud emphasized his last word. Gods damn it all. 'I didn't know you'd resort to emotional blackmail. Where has your decency gone?'

'Down the drain, which is where my trust and confidence in you will follow unless you don't heed my words.'

The words stung. He was in deep trouble. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck.

'At least look at me if you're going to be kinky, you perverted old scholar.'

It was the only comeback he had. His throat was going dry, his heart accelerating beyond measure, and he was desperate to know if it was the final straw that would break the friendship they shared (even if it was with benefits).

Phantom asked him for eye contact, and Freud gave it.

'I want you  _kneeling_ , Phantom,' said the scholar easily, like adding on an afterthought, as he turned just enough to see him out of the corner of his eye. And then he turned back, as blithely as if he was glancing at a noisy animal.

It was enough to send Phantom bolting for the door.

Disappointment was what he saw.

Disappointment… and cold, untamed anger.

 

* * *

 

 

Moving the throne didn't damage it as much as Neinheart said it would. Freud rolled his eyes and concentrated, weaving another layer of protective spell to ensure that nobody would be able to lay a curse on it. When he was done he stepped back, rested a while, boiled some tea using an old teapot and some leaves he stashed away, and sipped at the fragrant liquid contemplatively.

The spells weren't in too good a condition when he first began… maybe it was better after all that Phantom had stolen the gold chair. He regarded the throne curiously, racking his brain for any spell he might have missed and added on a few layers of incantations of every spell he could think of.

When he was done, he flipped to a page of his own journal and begun the last spell. He smirked before picking up his teacup and upending it confidently on the rich indigo velvet, watching the tea flow off in perfect golden beads without staining the fabric at all.

If anyone asked, he'd say it'd be to keep out moisture so the velvet wouldn't grow mouldy.

He washed out the cup and the teapot and set it out to dry, arranged his books carefully on the edge of the counter, and headed over to the door. Opening it he was pleased to find Phantom there, on his knees as how he'd instructed, and in his white briefs.

He knocked off Phantom's hat to reveal angry, defiant eyes. 'You won't need this. Or this,' he added as he picked up Phantom's clothes and tucked them under his arm. 'Come in and shut the door after you.'

That defiance wouldn't be the only thing he had to fix tonight. He had to punish the thief, but not break his spirit.

'I didn't say you could get up,' he said easily, setting Phantom's uniform and hat in a cupboard.

He heard Phantom's half-hearted mutter and the scuffling of hands and knees as Phantom followed behind him. With a quick wave of his hand he had the door out the basement, as well as the door to the cupboard, lock with two separate  _click-_ s that echoed in the deathly silence.

'No locks can contain me,' sneered Phantom, to which Freud laughed.

'I conduct terrifying experiments in here. Wouldn't it be a threat to all of humanity if some magic leaked out the walls in the midst of it?'

Freud draped his red robe over the armrest of the throne and smiled thinly as Phantom screwed his face up in concentration.

'Fuck you, Freud,' he growled. There was real fear in his eyes. Freud wagered he'd never been locked in anywhere before, especially not naked and at the mercy of another man. He made to get to his feet. 'Let me go now.'

Fear was a good teacher. But Freud was going to be a better one. With a quick stride Freud had a long wooden ruler in his hand and lunged at Phantom, catching the thief while he was off balance and landing a loud  _crack_  across the blonde's ass. The thief's jaws tightened but he did not cry out.

'I didn't say you could get up,' he repeated, as if talking to a young child.

He heard it himself, the way something primal and raspy in his voice made him sound absolutely menacing, as his voice echoed in the still room. He saw Phantom's back muscles ripple and tense at the order and waited for the thief to lower himself back down to the ground.

'Do you need to be disciplined like this every time, Phantom?' Freud hefted the ruler again and tapped it across his left cheek. He let himself have a moment to admire the round and pert orb. 'Must you be dominated before you learn anything?'

'I prefer you moaning like a whore as  _I_ fucked  _you_ ,' snarled Phantom, avoiding the question.

And that was the last thing Phantom registered before Freud had his hand in his hair and was dragging him to the throne, and he had his cheek ground into the hard concrete floor, a hand forcing his spine to arch downwards, another hand (how many hands!?) on his neck, pressing him down. The ruler was rapping against his stomach and the tender area between his legs, forcing him to his knees to escape the biting edge. He gasped out from the sting in his cheekbones and then yelped from the pain that flared squarely across the cheeks of his ass.

'Fuck, Freud! I didn't steal it!'

It was his only defense and he howled it so loud that the echoes stung his ears, and Freud had to press a knee on his back to keep him breathless. He fought for breath, against having the air forced out of his lungs, squirming and grunting his protest as blows landed indiscriminately across both cheeks and where the thighs met his ass. It was to this lack of air that Phantom realised that Freud wasn't keen at all on whatever he had to say. The constant question of how a ruler could be maneuvered so well and efficiently floated at the back of his mind as pain pricked fiercely on one ass, and then the other, and then his lower thigh, and Phantom realised with a sickening feeling that Freud was covering every inch of him in swats in a clinically methodical yet random pattern.

He didn't want to know what kind of piteous sounds he was making as he twisted under Freud's weight, chest crushed to the ground and his mind being frayed slowly yet surely by the stings upon his rear. Every stroke hurt more than the last and he was sure Freud was increasing the force behind the ruler,  _fuck_  they stung like fire across his skin. And yet they kept coming as Freud relentlessly lay waste to Phantom's ass stuck firmly in the air, while Phantom cursed mutedly and forced swears through his teeth at every sting at the sit-spots that Freud paid special attention to.

It took a while for Phantom to realise that the blows had ceased and he could catch his breath properly again. Freud was standing  _over_  him, one foot planted on either side of his head and was rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt and that couldn't possibly be a good sign.

He gritted out another swear as he felt the hard edge of the wooden ruler, now turned into a punishment tool, tap at the cheek of one ass. It was barely a light touch, with any pressure at all, and Phantom knew that but it sent a fierce searing fire through him nonetheless.

'I won't bother with interrogation,' said Freud simply. Another tap and Phantom responded with a hiss he couldn't bite back. 'You and I both know you stole the empress's throne. It's the most glaring thing you could steal just beneath the Skaia, and you didn't take it because it held a special memory of Aria, the Aria you hold dear to you.'

'The fuck does it mean to you -'

Phantom felt the searing pain across his cheeks like he'd never felt it before. The ruler jolted him forward so far that his shoulders knocked against the brown boots beside his head, and his knees buckled under him, shivering too much to hold his weight. He heard a scream and realised that it was his own. It sounded strained…  _desperate_ in the silence.

'A thief who steals the second most valuable thing in Ereve,' continued Freud impassively, hooking the ruler through the waistband of his briefs and the leg hole and hoisting him back up into position, 'Who coincidentally had a grudge on a certain Light Mage and  _framed_  him by displaying the loot on his roof… I wonder, is there any chance it mightn't be you?'

'Fuck, Freud, if you want a confession you could've just fucking asked -' and the words were lost in his throat as Freud pulled his briefs upwards mercilessly with the ruler, the fabric tightening around his groin and the hemlines gnawing into his chafed skin. When Phantom drew a shaky breath Freud pulled again, sending a flare of pain through his ruined skin and causing a knot of pain and slight arousal, from the friction along his crotch, to coil in the pit of his loins.

Phantom realised he was wide-eyed, gasping for air and supporting himself on his toes, legs bent at an awkward angle as he fought to ease the friction on his skin. And immediately when he had adjusted his weight, Freud was sliding the ruler up and down his ass, like  _playing a fucking violin_ and there was friction everywhere. The ruler, the fabric, the hemlines, all cutting and rubbing against him, driving him insane from blurring of pain and pleasure. The rough flat of the ruler was ridged from years of use, and the markings of the length, though less pronounced, still bit and tore at his bruising skin, making him squirm in a vain bid to escape.

Freud's legs against his shoulders held him in place and he didn't dare buck for fear of incurring the mage's fury if he'd so much as brushed his groin with his head. Instinctively Phantom dropped to the floor again, pressing his chest desperately against the floor to show repentance while disgusting sounds of groaning and whining passed his lips like the music Freud was determined to create.

'I wasn't looking for a confession when I intimidated you in here,' stated Freud. Phantom yelled profanity and cursed all manner of gods as the ruler was wrenched swiftly against his skin and freed from the confines of his briefs. His last article of clothing, the last shred of dignity he owned was being used as a weapon against him. Fuck, Freud was determined to show Phantom that everything he had was just fleeting, that everything could be a shield as well as a weapon if Freud wanted it.

_If not for this fucking room…_

Every time Phantom spoke, he got a lashing. Just what did Freud want from him?

'Please,' he gritted out, knowing that Freud couldn't see his face. He needed to sound like he was genuine, that he was desperate to right his wrongs, that he had learned his lesson.

He heard a clatter as the makeshift paddle was dropped on the ground, and he could almost feel his chest give way as he heaved a sigh of relief. Thank gods it was over.

'Please what?'

'Please… Freud, darl- Freud,  _sir_ …'

Phantom smirked to himself just slightly. He remembered how the mage had always had a fetish for authority and he was planning to use that to his advantage. Their previous romps always had  _Freud_  calling Phantom "Sir" and since it got Freud so hard and wanton the previous time, surely it'd work now.

And true enough he caught the slight twitch of the mage's shoe as Freud coiled his toes up against his foot.

'Don't flatter me. What do you want?'

'Please,  _sir_ … tell me… tell your servant what he can do to right what's wrong.'

And he almost grinned as Freud hesitated. It might only have been a few weeks into their relationship but it had started off with fire and sparks and it was definitely not for nothing.

The redhead took a few steps back. Phantom didn't move as he watched the shoes vanish out of sight. Unconsciously he relaxed and tried to crane his neck to the side when there was no noise.

Then he remembered Freud's anger and a sinking feeling settled over him… The mage's tempers were few and rare between and he was never, ever angry for a simple reason. Neither would his anger fade in such a short time.

Freud was barely getting started.

And with a sickening jolt that sent ice shooting through his veins at the realisation, Freud had something cold and hard hooked into the waistband of his briefs. The cold surface on his aching muscles and flared skin made Phantom let out a soft yelp, completely not expecting it, and he jerked forward to escape it. It only served Freud's intention by pulling the briefs abruptly down his legs, and he groaned again at the feeling of rough fabric rubbing up against his raw skin. It took two firm tugs for Phantom's very slight erection to be free from the briefs and for the fabric to pool around his knees.

'S-sir,' gritted Phantom. His heart was pounding at the fear of being led back to that place of inescapable pain.

Freud forced his foot between Phantom's legs and used his heel to push the briefs down to his ankles, stepping on them to hold them in place. Phantom's face burned with the knowledge that his balls and dick were hanging freely now, unhidden from Freud's impassive gaze and unprotected, even if it was merely a thin scrap of fabric that acted as a false sense of security.

'Spread your legs.'

Phantom whipped his head around just in time to see Freud lower the spoon in his hand upon his lower back, which was free from any of the ruler's punishment, and he let out a ragged howl as sheer, bone-biting, icy cold raced up his spine. He tried to scoot forward but Freud's foot held him down, and he scrabbled vainly against the floor for relief of any kind at all while the pressure on his skin got greater and the coldness on his skin grew more relentless and finally he gave in, trying to force his legs apart.

'Wider,' murmured Freud when Phantom's briefs were loosely stretched between his ankles, and Phantom hurried to comply but it wasn't fast enough and he was reacquainted with the flat curve of the spoon, though this time it was lower and closer to the crack of his ass.

With a shout Phantom forced his legs open as wide as they would go with the briefs restraining him and threatening to pull his legs back together, and finally the spoon was removed. He gritted his teeth with the effort of holding his legs stretched this open, and he shuddered slightly at feeling the coldness seeped into his entrance, feeling extremely exposed and extremely vulnerable.

He heard the  _tink_  of the metal spoon being placed in a metal cup, probably the cup that contained whatever foul concoction that made it so  _fucking_  cold. Then Freud's accursed fingers were back around the cheeks of his ass, pulling them apart, and Phantom couldn't stop a low keen of pain as Freud opened up the crack there as far as he could.

'Hold your ass for me.'

It was more an order than a request and Phantom swore loudly, earning a ruthless swat that made tears prick at his eyes.

'It'll be harder for me to control my strength if I'm holding you open and moving on to the next punishment, Phantom.'

So much for that little "Sir" trick of his working. With a resigned exhalation of air Phantom lowered his chest down to the ground and turned his head to the side, reaching behind him and up towards the cheeks of his rear. His face flushed red at the humiliating position, having to display his entrance as if he was going to be fucked -

Surely Freud wouldn't …

He turned a horrified eye on Freud as the spoon was raised in the air and Freud caught his glance, a flash of knowing in his eyes. Phantom saw a muscle in Freud's jaw twitch as the mage brought the spoon crashing down on the top of the crack of his ass, and the coldness seared through him, fighting with the pain from impact, and sent a flurry of sensations through his mind.

When Freud brought the spoon down a second time with an even more resounding thwack, Phantom let out a howl. The coldness of the spoon had bore into him, closer than ever, to the throbbing entrance that he was forced to display. And it hurt so much more, the muscles being far more sensitive than he was used to, the pain amplified twofold, threefold, twentyfold by Freud's increased strength and the closer it got to his hole.

The recognition of Freud's plan must have shown in his eyes, or maybe he flinched visibly before the third swat but he heard Freud's voice through his shout of pain, 'That's right. It hurts, doesn't it. Foolish of you to think that a sex kink would work on me at this point of time. I don't stoop as low as you might imagine.'

Yet the authority in his voice was unmistakable and the low rumble made Phantom shudder as he braced himself for impact, surely this time he wouldn't cry out, yet cry out he did, each louder than the last as the spoon danced around his entrance. It was on the right, and then the left, and then the left again and again and suddenly the right, and Phantom had no way of knowing where Freud would strike.

He felt the briefs at his ankles slack before Freud was pressing the burning, icy spoon against his right calf. 'Your legs.'

And then pain, right across his very entrance once his legs were pressed open as far as they would go. The coldness stabbed right through to his gut, and even though he shouted so loud his voice cracked, he fought the urge to close his legs and fought even harder to pull his burning cheeks apart for the merciless smattering of blows on his most sensitive region. He squirmed, gods be damned he squirmed, but he feared moving forward lest the spoon caught him on the sac or worst still on his shaft, which were dangling directly below Freud's line of fire.

And then as abruptly as it started, it stopped. Phantom found his fingernails digging into the soft sensitive flesh of his ass, tears at the corners of his eyes and a trail of spittle that had flowed down his cheek from the constant yelling and flailing. He panted desperately, relishing the respite from that biting spoon, and thanking every transcendent he knew that Freud hadn't shoved the damn eating utensil right up his ass.

With a swift and merciless tug, Freud kicked the briefs backwards so quickly that be brought Phantom's ankles with him and sent him sprawling against the ground. Phantom coughed and tried to ease the tension on his groin by angling himself to the side, and Freud definitely saw it but decided not to mention.

Blearily, he tilted his head up and for the first time registered the ornately carved throne before him, the golden leg right before his eyes. And in there he saw a disheveled man, hair tousled, eyes unfocused, sweat plastering hair across his brow and wetness all over his chin. He closed his eyes to hide the image of the desperate man Freud had reduced him to, nursing the little ball of humiliation and betrayal that had started to form at the back of his throat.

'Up on your feet.' Freud's voice sent a strange spark of anger through him now.

Whatever Freud was planning, he was going to get it. He would get his obedience like he would a whipped dog, but Phantom would revoke his loyalty for nothing the mage did was ever going to get it back.

With a whine he pushed himself up on his arms and his muscles screamed, protested at the slight movement. Even the simple act made the cheeks of his rear flare up, throbbing so hard that Phantom knew he wouldn't be able to sit or lie down properly for days. His whole body felt raw, used, broken, and he staggered to his feet, panting hard and regarding Freud with cold eyes.

Freud was jerking himself off.

Phantom watched as Freud stroked himself, fingers clasped around his shaft, and the sight brought a growl to his lips. The little moans that Phantom had relished as he drove his dick deep into the man's perfectly tight ass now slipped generously from the redhead's mouth. His eyes were firmly closed as he made those sounds, whore-like and slutty sounds that once made Phantom hot with pleasure but now made him cringe.

The bastard had promised to only come by Phantom's hand. It was the reason why Phantom had stopped pleasuring himself while Freud spent long hours at boring meetings, why Phantom would take a long and cold shower after he had conferences with Freud, why Phantom had fallen so deeply and intricately in love with Freud, Freud, Freud.

Freud's eyes opened and they were glazed. He patted the table he was leaning against and dragged a stool beside him with his foot. 'Lie down. On your back. Head here.'

Phantom lowered his eyes, ears still ringing with the lewd sounds of Freud's pleasure as he climbed painfully onto the stool and then hoisted himself onto the table. He forced himself to bite back the pain,  _all of it_ , and made no sound at all as sitting on his ruined ass shot fire up his back and limbs. Freud didn't care at all as he grabbed a thick handful of Phantom's blonde locks and forced his head down, knocking his shoulders against the table.

With a harsh tug he had Phantom's head dangling off the edge, and from his upside down vantage point he realised that he was inches away from the stimulated erection that he once laid claims on. He could smell his precum, could smell the scent of Freud, a smell so sweet it was like tea, he could smell his fucking erection as the mage taunted him mere inches away from his face.

'Enjoying the show?' grinned Freud before he wrenched Phantom's head down towards the floor, exposing his throat.

'What's the point of fucking asking if you're not going to let me watch?' All he could see now was the edge of Freud's sac, and the zipper of his jeans, and everything beyond that was just upside down tables… and an upside down throne.

'You don't need to watch it,' chuckled Freud.

An iron grip tightened around his cheeks and forced his mouth open, and Freud's dick was easing itself into him.

Phantom fought it, but Freud merely growled his displeasure, snuck a thumb around the teeth of Phantom's lower jaw, and held his mouth open. He felt the hardness of the shaft press against his tongue, felt Freud's precome pool in the bowl of the roof of his mouth, felt the bulbous head press against the back of his throat and make him choke.

'I intend for you to take my entire length,' murmured Freud. 'Hold still.'

Phantom writhed against the table, uncaring of his burning ass and caring for nothing more than to get air back in his lungs and to stop dry heaving onto Freud's erection. Tears pricked his eyes and flowed freely down his forehead and into his hair as Freud pulled back just slightly, giving Phantom some respite but it didn't last long. Again the familiar thickness was pushing mercilessly against his throat and Phantom exhaled through his throat to try and relax. With one long stroke that elicited a moan from Freud and a whimper from Phantom, Freud and Phantom connected at the chin and groin.

Phantom felt his throat start to burn and his vision turn blurry from lack of air. He remembered to breathe through his nose and forcefully gulped down air. Freud drew back, and Phantom could feel every vein, every throbbing nerve, every pulsing muscle in the shaft as he moved. Familiar, yet foreign upside down. Freud was not as thick as he, but he was longer, and Phantom knew that Freud would caress a deeper spot in Phantom's throat than Phantom could ever feel in Freud's.

'Ask me again.'

Freud's voice pulled him out of the confused mix of discomfort and arousal. He could only see that damn golden chair and its velvet cushions, and he hadn't a clue how Freud looked or what he wished of him.

Phantom tried to move his arms but realised that Freud had pinned each wrist down with his hand, to get deeper leverage as he fucked Phantom's mouth and also to hold him still. He felt the tension ease as Freud rocked his hips backwards, pulling slowly from Phantom's throat.

'Ahk whak?' choked out Phantom around Freud before he had even drawn breath, desperate for his throat to relax. His chest heaved as he dry retched, his gullet stretched far too wide far too suddenly for comfort.

'What you can to to right what's wrong.' There wasn't even a pause as Freud began to move, slowly, purposefully fucking Phantom's mouth and throat, and Phantom struggled to keep his teeth free.

'What, did you, bring me, here for?' Phantom gasped out breathily between thrusts as Freud pulled his head easily to Phantom's lips and then slid back in. Each time Freud pushed in, Phantom's throat ached, the angle was wrong, the speed was wrong, it was too dry, and Phantom couldn't breathe right for his neck was stretched too far backwards.

'Ahh… I'm glad you asked,' Freud was smiling, he was sure of it, and he wasn't sure if Freud's first sound was a moan or an exclamation. Freud didn't stop moving, his erection growing steadily in Phantom's tight throat, and he was sure that in the involuntary fluttering of the muscles of his gullet, Freud was being sent to heaven in pulsing waves of pleasure.

'Fucker,' gritted out Phantom when he could.

And he regretted it instantly when Freud leaned over him and pushed all the way in, his sac pressing against his nose and his dick deep in the recesses of Phantom's throat.

'You see, Phantom, you were never supposed to join the heroes.'

Unadulterated anger flared in Phantom's gut.

'Deep breath now. Ready?' Freud pulled out and then drove in with enough ferocity to send another bout of tears leaking from his eyes as his entire body rocked against the table and elicited twenty types of pain from forty places.

'You weren't supposed to join the heroes. Nobody trusted you. Nobody… except  _me_.' He pulled out, and slid in again to emphasize the last word, making Phantom clench his eyes shut at the pain when his sore ass grated against the ridged wooden table.

'And here I am, fucking you cruelly into a table to teach you a lesson you otherwise wouldn't know the significance of.'

Phantom growled through his nose but Freud silenced him with another long pull and deep ramming of his hips against the blonde's face.

'We fuck, and each fuck is amazing. Breathe deep.'

In, out. Phantom closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear it. Not from this fucking bastard who broke his trust, whatever little he had teased out from him.

'But being close doesn't mean you've earned your right as a Hero. Someone must validate your presence. And that someone has always been me.'

Phantom snarled instead of drawing breath and Freud took his chance to thrust so deep into the blonde's throat he saw stars.

'And one day before the council makes a formal decision to accept you in their ranks, beside Luminous, whom you've framed, beside Aran, who has the most steadfast morals I know, beside Mercedes, who has honor in her rank that even I don't have… One day before that, you  _steal…_  the  _fucking…_   _throne_!'

Freud's voice rose to a deafening volume as he punctuated his words with merciless thrusts to the depths of Phantom's throat, as if trying to plumb some form of apology from there. But it was streaming down his eyes already, salty and with pure regret, and Phantom was fighting to make a sound, any sound, that would tell Freud that he was sorry, but Freud would have none of it.

'All those missions I planned… conferences to have you speak up… to earn the trust of the council, weeks of work, foresight, prediction, sleepless nights, all gone. Along with your  _reputation_  as a potential hero.'

Phantom swallowed hard, the knot in his throat getting as hard as Freud's erection and equally impossible to down.  _Please, Freud. Why didn't you say?_

'And above all… you undermine the very head of this alliance with this fucking stunt of yours… for what? For your petty games with your arch enemy.'

With a ruthless pull, Freud freed himself from the tightness of Phantom's throat and the thief coughed, retching up air as he fought back some sensation in his throat muscles. His voice was hoarse, the passageway far too dry to make any sound except a rasping, gurgling moan.

'Was it worth it?' Freud's voice was a murmur again, and Phantom struggled to right himself and look into the redhead's eyes. Please, please look.

Freud smiled then, a bitter little smile that tore Phantom up inside. 'I'm a whore, am I? Just a wanton little whore with sick fetishes to you?'

Phantom's eyes widened. He tried to shake his head but Freud's hand was back in his hair and Freud was dragging Phantom off the table and towards the throne. 'Come. I'll fuck you like a good little slut. Pleasure you right across this chair. Since you like it enough to steal it, I suppose we should make full use of it now.'

He was thrown, undignified, into the empress's throne, and all he could think of was how ignorant he was, how selfish he'd been. His Freud, slaving himself away like the whore Phantom called him, but for his sake, all for him.

Freud wrenched his jeans down to his ankles and grabbed Phantom's neck, his eyes brimming with anger and real, real betrayal, forcing him back into the velvet. With a few quick pulls of his callused hand, Phantom was aroused again, gasping vainly at his lack of air, the primal monster inside his loins beginning to unravel and stir.

Freud was hoisting himself up onto the chair.

A single, completely inappropriate thought flashed through his mind.

_No lube._

And then Freud was on him, forcing himself down on him and both men cried out, Freud in pain and Phantom in guilty ecstasy as warmth caked his needy cock. He strained not to thrust up into Freud, groaning and trying to twist away from Freud as the redhead crashed his hips against Phantom's groin, rocking to get that right angle that would make Phantom moan in sheer, desperate heat.

The intense friction and the speed of Freud's thrusts right off the bat made his eyes water, and he could barely fight through his dazed, blurry vision to see Freud, eyes closed and grimacing, as he fucked Phantom into the throne. Freud, his Freud, who had taken much longer than usual to coax up an erection before fucking his face. Freud, his Freud, who hated fucking without lube because it'd make sitting sore the next day.

'Moan like a needy little whore as I fuck you,' said Freud's husky voice in his ear, a mask that sounded so lustful and free of pain that Phantom almost obliged, almost forgot that he was in the middle of Freud's basement, his ass burning, throat aching as sounds tried to tear from his lips. Yet that perfect heat, encasing his length and Freud rode him, firmly and thoroughly, pushed him closer and closer to the edge, and Phantom was torn apart from the need to get his sweet, sweet release and the need to wipe the grimace from his lover's face.

He moaned. Gods damn him to hell, he moaned. Freud clenched around him, pulsing on every pull, warm and tight, the epitome of pleasure, and he couldn't fight the waves of pleasure that made him feel so good, nor the firm grip of his wrists above his head. He heard Freud's ass connecting with his hips, again and again, felt his dick harden further in Freud's perfect heat, and he arched his hips to find that angle that would hit Freud's sweet spot and make him writhe in pleasure.

And it was to his final failure of the day that he came, gloriously, with tears in his eyes and a howl from his ragged throat as he thrust up into Freud, relishing the way Freud bobbed up and down, still moving, stroking him one step deeper into utopia as flares like stars from the mix of utter bliss and searing pain mixed together in a glorious, glorious concoction. He felt himself harden and shoot ropes of come into Freud, filling him up, once, twice, a feeble third, before he sank back against the plush velvet, the remnants of his come that Freud couldn't contain leaking out of his sweet little hole and onto the cushion he sat on.

There was no vicious clamp of Freud's muscles, nor the usual moan of Phantom's name to signify that Freud had come. He faintly registered the warmth vanishing, leaving his dick limp and flaccid against his crotch. Another click, he heard the rustle of clothes and the opening of doors and opened his eyes to see Freud, putting his neatly folded clothes on the stack of books he'd brought in with him.

'Go home,' Freud's voice was broken. And the look in his eyes hurt him more than any blow he'd received today. 'Return the throne tomorrow, don't tell them I sent you, and don't ever come back.'

And Phantom, too weak to respond, merely sat numbly there with the words ringing in his ears, punctuated by Freud's footfalls receding out the basement and up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he rushed up the stairs, biting back tears and the sickening feeling of betrayal in his mind. Heedless to the burn of his ass and the burn around the base of his dick where he'd gripped himself so he wouldn't come, he tore down the hallway and stumbled to his room.

The knob was locked. He'd left the keys hanging on the hook beside the basement keys, and he wasn't in any state to do any type of magic.

Freud slumped against the door and let himself slide down to the ground before staring at his shaking hands. These were the hands that had held the ruler and the spoon, held Phantom down in twisted positions and pushed Phantom into a non-consensual fuck. He clenched them into fists and ground them into the floor but they didn't stop trembling, nor did his chest stop heaving as tears ran freely down his cheeks.

He had hurt Phantom so, so much.

The look of pain and those howls… he'd never seen or heard them before, or ever want to hear them again. He hated every moment that Phantom lay writhing under him, choking out sounds and wordless pleas for him to stop. Yet Freud only had one more night before the council's decision, and if he failed then he had some more time before the trial that was scheduled for a month from now, but he was damned if the trick was going to work more than once. This horrifying stunt he had pulled in desperation, in the blind hopes that Phantom would see the light and play his last card correctly for the council. If it didn't…

Oh, and what were the chances that his plan would succeed? What were the chances his plan was  _worth it_?

He came back to reality a sobbing mess, and he fought to quiet his voice but he couldn't stop fighting for breath through the coiling lump that was in his lungs.

The look of hate in Phantom's eyes…

He'd lost Phantom already. He was sure.

The knowledge sent another tremor through him and he curled tighter into himself, burying his head in his arms and drawing his legs close to his chest. Gone was the only man he'd ever loved, and he had finally won his trust only to shatter it with various indecent acts of dominance, and then fucked him into oblivion with little regard for his feelings.

'Phantom,' he heard himself whisper, and the sound sent a shiver through him at the way it felt like a wanton groan of pleasure and at the way it sounded like the darkest shade of sin all at the same time.

'Freud,' he didn't expect a reply but there was one, a hoarse voice that was near him somewhere, and before he knew it there was a familiar warmth around him, pulling him close.

Without even having to open his eyes to confirm who it was he turned and buried his face in the nook of Phantom's neck, coughing out garbled syllables of  _sorry, sorry, sorry_  but his voice was foreign to him, he'd never cried so hard before.

'I'm sorry,' rasped Phantom in his ear, 'I wish I'd knew how much you had sacrificed… I forgot that you put your neck out on the line for me too.'

It didn't matter. Freud didn't matter. Not now. It wasn't ever about Freud — it had always been about Phantom.

Freud balled up tighter into Phantom, the desire to kiss away every patch of burning skin driving him to plant his lips on the thief's throat where he'd seen the bulge of his own dick. He tried to soothe the reddened skin of his ass and felt the tears rise again as Phantom hissed in pain, but Phantom was faster now and caught the crystal pearls with tender kisses just as they left Freud's eyes.

'Will you please forgive me?'

There hadn't been anything needing forgiveness.

Freud merely nodded for a lack of a better reply, throat tightened from the surge of relief that Phantom was still here, and then Phantom's lips were on his cheeks, and brushing across his skin, and trailing down to his lips…

He tackled Phantom to the floor, blindly sucking at Phantom's chapped lips and lapping at them, tasting the faint hint of his precome and licking the memory away until there was nothing left but Phantom, Phantom. He heard Phantom chuckle into the kiss before his waist was pulled closer, their bodies rubbing up against each other as they did so many times before, in lust, in desire, in love.

Their teeth knocked and he nipped Phantom's tongue roughly one time too many, he was so desperate for their reunion that he heeded little about poise or pleasure. He just wanted the feeling of Phantom, all inside him, and wanted nothing more than to drown in his taste.

When he finally pulled away, panting hard, most of the tears had dried and Phantom merely dabbed his thumb tenderly across his cheeks. He watched those deep amethyst eyes soften and smiled at last. Even if Phantom could never be redeemed in the council's eyes, Freud knew the thief would always be his.

Phantom didn't so much as grimace as he got up, carrying Freud bridal style as he fitted a hand to the lock. He nuzzled into the man's lean chest, rubbing his cheek against the smooth porcelain skin and watched patiently as Phantom picked the lock in his own way which needed neither pin nor hook.

With a sigh, he settled down against the bed and mock frowned as Phantom struggled to hoist himself beside him.

'What do you think you're doing,' he murmured as he reached across for the staff lying on the headboard.'You're sleeping on the couch tonight.'

And Phantom turned those huge, watery, deep, and pleading eyes on him. 'Please, Freud. I promise I'll be good.'

Freud gave him a hard look.

'I'll be the bigger spoon,' he volunteered hopefully.

And then Freud shook his head with how easy it was and how  _good_  it felt to give in, and beckoned Phantom over. He nestled into the taller man's firm embrace, wriggling to make himself more comfortable.

'Stop wriggling,' Phantom gasped. 'I'm still sensitive.'

'I hope you get morning wood. And I'm not going to suck you off if you do.' Freud heard him gulp down the bottle of water he had helped himself with from the bedside table and huffed.

'We'll see,' murmured Phantom, voice slurred already from the strain and exhaustion.

Freud didn't have to wait long before Phantom's breathing evened out. He gripped his staff. A blue mist settled over them and he felt the burn on his entrance begin to fade, and heard a breathy sigh as Phantom relaxed, the pain surely leaving his battered rear.

He lowered his staff to the ground before gripping Phantom's hand and closing his eyes. Phantom's finger twitched imperceptibly in response. Justice and redemption could wait just a while. His lover's embrace was far too cozy to leave.


End file.
